


The Harrowing Happenings At Hopfrog House

by YaGirlElla



Category: The Tell-Tale Heart - Edgar Allan Poe
Genre: Animal Death, Edgar Allan Poe References, Haunted Houses, I wrote this for an english class and wanted somewhere to put it, I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Insanity, Look this is a tell tale heart/edgar allan poe inspired fic, Sad Ending, Spoiler Alert - Freeform, Written in Class, aight im out, can i get drunk on milk, corona got me down, gratuitous butchering of the tell tale heart, i think im drunk on milk, im like, im so tired my guys, its not really haunted, ive drunk so much milk today, lmao this is projection 101, really sorry, sorry - Freeform, whatttttt i dont have issues with my family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:01:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26212321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YaGirlElla/pseuds/YaGirlElla
Summary: It was a dark and dreary day,the clouds in hopeless disarray,hanging from the heavens,faithless in their blessings,the night that I returned to Hopfrog house.
Kudos: 1





	The Harrowing Happenings At Hopfrog House

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all I wrote this for an english class, and it is supposed to be based loosely on the tell tale heart. loosely is the key word here. I'm like, sorry.

It was a dark and dreary day,  
the clouds in hopeless disarray,  
hanging from the heavens,  
faithless in their blessings,  
the night that I returned to Hopfrog house.

You see I had not been back in many years,  
to the house that brushed away my tears,  
That held the memories I nursed so near,  
Then turned them to my darkest fears.

It was a slow and listless day,  
The night I heard it call my name.  
I got a message from my mother,  
It might’ve been a brother,  
To check, I did not bother,  
To say she’d passed away.

I confess to you my dear,  
I did not shed a tear.  
Rather I did ponder,  
Why I cared more for the Condor,  
That crashed and fell outside my drawn windows.

I took its broken wings inside,  
And did my best to save its hide.  
Only now I understand,  
What possessed my shaking hand,  
Ran a finger down it’s neck so grand,  
To crush it and feel only bland,  
My treasured Hopfrog House.

I buried the bird on a trash strewn peak,  
And packed a dress that was once antique,  
Before I picked the threads away,  
And tried my best to change the grey.  
Of course, I knew it wouldn’t work,  
No mud or blood would make a mark,  
No dye or bleach would chase the dark.

I drove along Amontillado Path.  
By Raven’s Bend I went on a warpath.  
Down and left on Usher street.  
I swear my head was buried in concrete.

When I was young, I’d hide in the weeds,  
I’d play pirates and feel incomplete.  
My mum would watch from the Mercy Seat.  
She’d tug my hair and redo my pleats,  
She might be gone but her stairs still creek,  
And in me she regrew the weeds.

Hopfrog House stood so proud,  
When I pulled up the dust was a cloud.  
I coughed and gasped and the feeling passed,  
And yet the gagging stayed steadfast.

When I was younger, I would always cry,  
About rips, and reds, and rumbling skies.  
My dad would sigh and pat my hair,  
“smile some more, my sugar pear”.  
Its been years since he’d sent me off,  
With a ruse, cold smiles, and a blithering scoff,  
And yet he’s entombed in rusty glass,  
In mirrors, in clothes, in the cruelest farce.

The entryway was the coldest lie,  
Oil paint eyes and no shining lights.  
I swear the windows followed my steps,  
My head was spinning with every breath.

When I was younger, I spilt juice in the hall,  
My brother scolded and screamed till I felt so small.  
I hid in the closets, curled in a ball,  
Until my mother finally called.  
She took me downstairs, and told me to stop,  
“ladies don’t get into furious strops”.  
Mama, I had cried, it was not my fault!  
“yes, it was, you blithering dolt.”

The staircase was tall, and dirty with age,  
Curving and sharp, like a ribcage.  
Please believe my words, that I was sane,  
When I tell you it was covered in creeping bloodstains.

When I was younger, I had cried on these steps,  
After I’d fell in the garden and torn my grey dress.  
My mother had fought and yelled herself hoarse,  
Until my arms ran red with remorse.  
An hour or so later, I truly cannot remember,  
She pulled me into a hug,  
And called me sweet June bug.  
She said she was sorry and how much she loved me,  
And to hide my arms so she wouldn’t feel guilty.

I clutched my sleeves and shivered from cold,  
The bannister is weeping black mould.  
Shot through the darkness, I swear I hear crashes,  
And shrieking, and playing, and twisted romances.

When I was younger, I was getting quite bold,  
And when my dad told me off, his gaze I did hold.  
I don’t remember much from that night,  
Only pain, and hurt, and splintering lies.  
I sat in my room,  
It felt like a tomb,  
Till my brother came a calling,  
And called me appalling.  
He said I should be sorry,  
For making mum worry,  
And for provoking my dad.  
I should be glad, he said, for a father like him,  
Who’d sigh and ignore all of my whims.  
I’d nodded my head,  
And was sent off to bed,  
And when morning light broke,  
My dad had awoke,  
And was next to my bed.  
Cradled my head,  
In his too large hand,  
“my darling I’m sorry, but you made me so mad”.

I think to myself as I sit on the steps,  
They were never this big when I was a kid.  
Everything seems different now,  
The bannister is cold somehow.  
Though I’ve been holding it for a while,  
It’s colder than the bathroom tiles,  
That I cried on when I felt too much,  
The heat of the water pulsed with every touch.

Pulsed.

….

 _Pulsed_.

Like a heartbeat.

My own stutters fatefully.  
The stairs whisper rhapsodically.  
Hopfrog House creaks with every agony,  
That has stolen into its corridors.  
Every happiness promised tomorrow,  
Every person a falling domino.  
Every soul dragged undertow.  
Every shaking, hissing, crying cameo,  
Of one long gone, one not moved on.

I stand abruptly,  
The stairs curve around me.  
The floor is pulsing.  
The walls are crying.  
My own eyes stare back at me,  
Lifeless and listless,  
A familiar existence.  
Drenched in mistakes,  
Of downplayed high stakes.

My eyes start to weep,  
And my legs start to move,  
But I am stuck,  
In a never-ending loop.  
Of regrets and mistakes,  
And thoughts that aren’t mine.  
An ear splitting whine,  
Cracks through the air,  
And I watch in horror,  
As shocks rock the stairs.

It happens so slow,  
But also so fast,  
A blinding, burning, vertigo.

I remember the bird,  
From so long ago,  
How it refused to obey,  
It’s wing painfully laid.  
So it had to go,  
Like so many before.

I think of its cry,  
As I slip from the stair,  
Into the maw of a great wooden bear.

So shakingly scared,  
And I wish I had cared,  
As I lay on the floor,  
And bleed all alone.  
And the pulsing rests,  
And the stairs unfurl,  
And the wind protests,  
For the poor little thing,  
With its poor shattered wing.  
But how could I know,  
To care for such things,  
When I’ve spent my life,  
With my own shattered wings?

Where were they then, I muse,  
My soul coming loose,  
And where are they now,  
As I die all alone,  
At Hopfrog House.

**Author's Note:**

> Eggie Poe is rolling in his grave sorry my dude


End file.
